


Wardlow Comfort Club

by chiarodiluna



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brothels, Corruption, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, No Inheritance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarodiluna/pseuds/chiarodiluna
Summary: This is an alternate take on the story in the scenario where Henry Fisher did NOT become the Baron of Richmond. Where would this leave Phryne? How might her life and choices have been different? How would that extend to the people around her?





	Wardlow Comfort Club

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still figuring this story out, but I had this thought and inspiration and it just wouldn’t go away until I wrote it down.

As the first rays of dawn started to brighten the horizon, Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson strode confidently up the front steps of Wardlow Comfort Club, bracing himself for the stonewalling he was expecting to encounter inside.

A man had died here tonight. Deputy Commissioner George Sanderson himself had telephoned Jack at home to ask him to attend to the matter with the utmost discretion and care.

“This is a highly sensitive situation, Jack. I need your integrity and I need you to get to the bottom of this quickly. No muss, no fuss.”

Despite his annoyance at the corrupt implications of the situation, Jack had to admit to himself a reluctant gratitude at being woken up from a particularly nasty nightmare.

George had not given him much information. All he’d said was that a prominent citizen had been found dead on the premises. The staff of the establishment were sure to clam up at the first sight of the jacks, and Jack was sure the well-to-do patrons of this establishment would already have made themselves scarce.

Wardlow was well known to Melbourne as a house of pleasure, even if what actually went on inside it was mysterious enough to garner all kinds of wild stories. Vice kept up appearances with somewhat regular half-hearted raids, never once turning up anything even slightly incriminating. Jack wondered whether it was bribery or blackmail that kept this place safe. Perhaps now he would have the opportunity to find out. He’d heard the stories about Wardlow and some even wilder ones about its proprietress, Miss Phryne Fisher, but most of it sounded apocryphal. He didn’t doubt that she must be a fascinating subject to have drawn so much mythology around her, but it was mythology all the same.

He thrust through the heavy red velvet curtain hanging in the still-open double doorway and found himself in a luxurious entrance hall with warm lighting and a homely feel that wasn’t quite the sexy, seedy facade that he’d been expecting. An older gentleman with a kind smile stepped out from behind a small desk to greet him.

“You must be Inspector Robinson. Allow me to take your coat, sir.” The man moved behind Jack to help him remove his overcoat as he spoke. “Constable Collins is upstairs guarding the body and all guests and staff have been detained in the lounge by my most trusted men.”

He was now standing with his hand held out for Jack’s hat. As he hung up the items, Jack took a moment to suppress his bewilderment. 

“Thank you, Mr…?”

“Tobias Butler, sir. I’m the Chief Steward of this household.”

_Interesting terminology._

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. Lead on.”

Mr. Butler started up the staircase at the end of the hallway and Jack took in his surroundings in silence as he followed him. There was nothing cheap or seedy about the appearance of this place. It seemed like an overly opulent home with impressive works of art and cosy lighting.

When they reached the first floor, Jack saw several closed doors, which he was completely certain would be locked tight, and just one open set of double doors that clearly led into the “lounge” where he saw a surprisingly varied group of people gathered and chatting amongst each other. It wasn’t immediately possible to differentiate between guests and staff.

To his further surprise, the two men standing guard outside the lounge were none other than those Red Raggers, Albert Johnson and Cecil Yates. He held a grudging respect for the men from his previous encounters with them, but it would take many hours of the worst sort of torture for him to admit that to anyone but himself. He’d had no idea that they worked in a place like this. As far as he was aware, the two ran taxi business together. He noticed Bert giving him a decidedly narrow-eyed glare as Cec just gazed thoughtfully at the room they were guarding. Jack’s outward appearance gave no hint of his thoughts, but he was positively giddy about all these mysteries lining up in his head to be solved. He wouldn’t be bored for _months_.

“Bert,” Mr. Butler called. “Front door, please. No one to come in, except by order of myself or Inspector Robinson here.”

Bert nodded and sauntered down the stairs to take up his station. Mr. Butler proceeded down a corridor and Jack followed in awe of any man who could order Bert Johnson around without backchat. There were more closed doors and another open door where Constable Hugh Collins was standing solid, but casting nervous glances to a sniffling young woman sat on a stool nearby. A young girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen was standing next to the woman patting her shoulder absent-mindedly. Both were dressed demurely, looking far too young and innocent to be in a place like this, and Jack added to his mental collection of mysteries, though this time with decidedly less glee. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Collins babbled, looking like he’d just swallowed something that was trying to climb back out his throat. “She’s… uh… She’s very…”

He shuffled slightly to the side and Jack’s gaze slid past him into what appeared to be a very opulent bathroom and landed on who “She” was. A woman was crouched next to the prone body, rifling through his pockets. She had a fashionable short black bob topped by an extravagant feathered fascinator and the fabric of her dress looked far too expensive to be stretched as it was to allow her current position.

“Madam.” He inserted firm reprimand into his quiet voice and was pleased to see her jump a little in surprise. “Please unhand that corpse.”

She rose ever-so-gracefully in place and turned to look at him. Her slim figure was complemented delightfully by an exquisite dress, blood-red lips and intelligent eyes. He was sure that she wanted him to see only the first three of those attributes. He also noted a supremely confident stance briefly before it melted into a faux-innocent pose to accompany a coquettish expression.

“Senior Detective Inspector Robinson, Miss Phryne Fisher.” Mr. Butler piped up from somewhere behind him as he stepped into the bathroom. He thought he detected a faint strain of amusement in the older man’s voice.

“Inspector Robinson,” Miss Fisher gushed, her pitch girlishly high. “Thank goodness you’re here. We are beside ourselves. Dear Mr. Andrews came here to use the facilities and he was gone so long I sent my companion to seek him out and she discovered him dead, the poor girl!” 

Jack was unmoved. “Miss Fisher, you are tainting my crime scene.”

Her expression melted into a lascivious smirk as her voice dropped several pitches. “Well, I’ve never done _that_ before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

He would be lying if he said that certain parts of him remained unmoved by that tone in her voice. She was very good at this. Somehow he managed to keep his expression unmoved and he saw a curious light appear in her eyes as she realised her ploys were not working. When she next spoke, her tone was entirely professional and efficient but with a hint of barely controlled excitement.

“The lack of blood suggests this wasn’t a violent attack, unless of course he was strangled, but the fetal position suggests a degree of internal pain rather than the flailing limbs associated with a struggle. Poison, perhaps?”

Jack stared thoughtfully into those intelligent eyes. Maybe some of the stories weren’t so apocryphal after all. He allowed himself a small smirk and was pleased to see her eyes drop to his mouth and linger a little too long before snapping back up to his eyes.

“You could have at least given me a chance, Miss Fisher, but now you have a head start however am I to keep up?”

She blinked, then bestowed on him a wolfish smile. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. I’ll leave this in your…” her eyes raked down his body to take in his hands, “capable hands. You can find me just out there with my companion, Dot.”

_Companion. I wonder if that is more of that interesting terminology._

She moved toward the door and he took a small step to one side to allow her through. She held his eyes as she passed him unnecessarily close. He met her challenge and held his ground. This woman would be exceedingly dangerous if he allowed her to think he was intimidated by her.

Now alone in the bathroom, Jack took his time investigating the room and inspecting the body to see if he could glean any further information than what Miss Fisher had expertly provided him. The only thing he found was some powder on the edge of the sink. It had to be illicit cocaine in a place like this, he suspected, but he couldn’t find any source of it.

Emerging from the bathroom, he instructed Collins to have the medical examiner test a sample of the powder, then he strode over to the women. The young woman seemed to have calmed down significantly but was clutching Miss Fisher’s hand. He crouched down in front of her and gave her a kind smile.

“I’m Detective Inspector Robinson. What’s your name?”

“Dorothy Williams, sir.”

“Well, Miss Williams, can you tell me what happened?”

“Miss Fisher sent me to check on Mr. Andrews when he’d been gone from the lounge for such a long time. I knocked several times and called his name before I decided to try the door. It was unlocked, Inspector! Isn’t that strange? When the door opened I saw him on the floor and I called for Mr. Butler who checked if he was breathing, but he was not.”

“How did he seem before leaving for the bathroom?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in the lounge.”

Jack frowned and glanced up at Miss Fisher.

“Dot does not provide services for the club, Inspector. She is my companion.” Miss Fisher’s tone was quite stern, as though this should be obvious. He looked over at the teenage girl standing on Dot’s other side, an unasked question in his eyes.

“This is Jane, my ward. She, too, does not provide services for the club.” Now her voice was cold as ice, the frothy flirt from before entirely erased. “I have already removed her from one such situation and will not allow her to be placed in another.”

The meaning of this statement hit the Inspector like a tonne of bricks. He wondered if Jane was even a legal ward, or just a refugee. This was certainly turning into a perplexing morning. He nodded a tentative smile at Jane who just stared back at him. He stood up, suppressing a grimace at his protesting knees, and addressed Miss Fisher.

“So how did Mr. Andrews seem before leaving for the bathroom?”

“He was a little out of sorts. He wasn’t interested in his usual… pursuits. He sat with Virginia for a little while, but she couldn’t raise his spirits, and then he excused himself. Unfortunately I was dealing with a delicate domestic matter, so I wasn’t as attentive as usual. He was gone at least 20 minutes before I realised and called for Dot.”

He turned back to Dot and asked, “How well did you know Mr. Andrews prior to—”

“Oh, poor Lydia!” Miss Fisher suddenly cried, as though recalling something she’d neglected to remember until now. She looked at Jack. “Lydia Andrews, his wife.”

“His… wife—?”

“Inspector, you must allow me to inform her personally of what has happened. She’ll need a friendly face.”

Derailed from his thought process, Jack stared at her, incredulous.

“ _You_ want to inform Mrs. Andrews that her husband died at _your_ brothel?”

A cataclysmic frost descended over Miss Fisher’s face and voice.

“Wardlow _Comfort Club_ is no mere brothel, Inspector Robinson.” She almost spat the words at him. “Nor is it a so-called _gentlemen’s_ club. This is a place where people may come to seek comfort and companionship in others _without_ judgement. As a sometime customer, Lydia knows this very well.”

Jack blinked as a couple of pieces fell together in his mind and yet more questions developed. After a few moments of tense silence, he tilted his head in acknowledgment of his faux pas.

“Please allow me to interview your staff and patrons now, Miss Fisher.”


End file.
